What Dementia Can’t Steal

 

Yesterday, my family and I had the special opportunity to have lunch with my Mammaw. After our morning dentist appointments, we arrived to the nursing home just in time to make arrangements for her lunch to be brought to her room in order for us to have an early birthday celebration.

Tomorrow she will be 81 years old. Dementia has been part of her life for several years and her declining health has caused us to believe she was headed to Glory in many scary instances. But tomorrow, she’s 81!

The disease has stolen a lot from her. It’s stolen a lot from our family. But it cannot claim everything.

Yesterday’s celebration was much different than birthdays in years past.

When I took hold of her wheelchair as she sat in the hallway, I knelt down and said, “Mammaw, it’s me, Sydney. I brought my family to celebrate your birthday a little early.”

She looked puzzled, but she smiled.

“Mammaw, I made a strawberry cake.”

She smiled bigger.

“And it’s a Duncan Hines!”

She cackled with laughter and I rolled her down the hall.

“I’m sure it’s going to be real good!”

“I sure hope so!”

Celebrations are different for many reasons.

One being, I made the cake. That was a task that Mammaw owned for many, many years. And though we both esteem Duncan Hines cake mixes to be the best choice (and food allergy friendly for us), I know I’ll never be able to master her caramel cake.

Dementia cannot steal Mammaw’s legacy.

Known for her mastery of baking a caramel cake and being able to make cathead biscuits with her eyes closed, my grandmother knew her way around the kitchen well. Her fried chicken on Sunday afternoons could help cure anything that went wrong the week before and help motivate me to have a more positive outlook for the upcoming week.

As I helped her with her lunch yesterday, we had a few laughs because she let me know I wasn’t feeding her as fast as she wanted. “That’s mighty good! Keep it coming!”

She prepared countless meals for me and helped teach me the importance of hospitality, and yesterday reminded me that time sure has changed things for her.

She spent years waiting on others hand and foot, donning a faded apron, of course. And there she sat. As I fed her, she never quite understood who I was, but she was glad I was there and she was so happy to see my family.

She played footsie with my almost 2 year old and she chatted about animals and music with my almost 4 year old.  And occasionally she would ask Joseph about something that was random to us, but the topic held importance to her at the time.

Dementia cannot steal Mammaw’s joy.

Though she couldn’t quite pinpoint how she knew me, she was full of joy. Confusion didn’t taint the celebration. We were all simply grateful to be with one another.

Mammaw laughed with my girls over silly nuances and insisted that they eat more cake than they needed.

Dementia cannot steal what Mammaw means to me.

My heart is still overwhelmed by the Lord’s kindness in giving us a celebration with her yesterday. But even more so, I am humbled and honored that He chose her to be my grandmother.

For 31 of her 81 years she’s told me, “You’re my girl!” (“girl” said with the thickest southern accent you can imagine.)

She may never be able to recall my name at a moment’s notice again, but that doesn’t discount all we have shared. I’m glad to be “Mrs. Neill’s granddaughter” and pray that this year allows us to create more memories together, even if I’ll be the only one of the two of us who is able to remember them.